e again; he had vague ideas of what he wanted to say, but he
could not express his thoughts in words. Convinced of his inability he
arose once more, his blood coursing rapidly through his veins. He
turned to the window just as the train was coming out of the tunnel,
and his thoughts reverted to his parents. He saw their tiny home on the
heights overlooking Rouen and the valley of the Seine. His father and
mother kept an inn, La Belle-Vue, at which the citizens of the
faubourgs took their lunches on Sundays. They had wished to make a
"gentleman" of their son and had sent him to college. His studies
completed, he had entered the army with the intention of becoming an
officer, a colonel, or a general. But becoming disgusted with military
life, he determined to try his fortune in Paris. When his time of
service had expired, he went thither, with what results we have seen.
He awoke from his reflections as the locomotive whistled shrilly,
closed his window, and began to disrobe, muttering: "Bah, I shall be
able to work better to-morrow morning. My brain is not clear to-night.
I have drunk a little too much. I can't work well under such
circumstances." He extinguished his light and fell asleep.

He awoke early, and, rising, opened his window to inhale the fresh air.
In a few moments he seated himself at his table, dipped his pen in the
ink, rested his head upon his hand and thought--but in vain! However,
he was not discouraged, but in thought reassured himself: "Bah, I am
not accustomed to it! It is a profession that must be learned like all
professions. Some one must help me the first time. I'll go to
Forestier. He'll start my article for me in ten minutes."

When he reached the street, Duroy decided that it was rather early to
present himself at his friend's house, so he strolled along under the
trees on one of the boulevards for a time. On arriving at Forestier's
door, he found his friend going out.

"You here--at this hour! Can I do anything for you?"

Duroy stammered in confusion: "I--I--cannot write that article on
Algeria that M. Walter wants. It is not very surprising, seeing that I
have never written anything. It requires practice. I could write very
rapidly, I am sure, if I could make a beginning. I have the ideas but I
cannot express them." He paused and hesitated.

Forestier smiled maliciously: "I understand that."

Duroy continued: "Yes, anyone is liable to have that trouble at the
beginning; and, well--I ha